


Men of Good Fortune

by irradiatedsoup (dul_cin_ea)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Multi, Post-At World's End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22903630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dul_cin_ea/pseuds/irradiatedsoup
Summary: Nineteen seventy-seven had been the worst.
Relationships: Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, James Norrington/Jack Sparrow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	Men of Good Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Written with [SharpestRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose). Originally posted at [livejournal](https://sharpest-rose.livejournal.com/777985.html) in May 2007.

2007

Nineteen seventy-seven had been the worst. Jim and Michael had been lost in the war, and so there was a pall over the Turner gathering which stretched its cold, sad tendrils out to envelope Jack and James's meeting as well.

But that was long past now, past enough that the names of the fallen could be spoken in fond conversation with the same soft, elegiac laugh Will had for all he'd loved and let go. Now it was sunny, and a Saturday morning, and a new century had turned once again.

"Did you see little Isobel?" James asked as they reached the top of the hill. The whole seaside fair was visible from up here; the spiky silhouette of the reproduction tall ship a dark shape against the glittering water of the bay. The air smelled like burnt sugar and gunpowder from the small fireworks and rockets some of the children were letting off.

"Aye," Jack answered with a grin. The last time they'd seen her she'd been a cheerful, stubborn, chubby creature of four years old, demanding piggy-back rides and a turn at wearing Captain Sparrow's hat. Sometime in the last ten years she'd grown into a willowy lass with bottle-black hair and even more kohl about her eyes than Jack had ever slathered on.

"Kids of her age always think it's romantic," Jack went on, scratching his chin. He'd grown the beard back, and his hair was getting long enough to tangle into the wild snarls it always tended to. "I'll wager that the next time we're here she'll have little ones tugging at her skirts and she'll barely even remember that old locked chest she keeps safe up in her attic."

James shook his head. "Not her, I think. She's a dreamer, like... others of her line have been. She'll hold to her romantic notions all her life. Perhaps she'll write books. Fairy stories of hearts in boxes."

"Now you're the one who sounds like a romantic," Jack retorted as they reached the crest of the hill and sat down.

James grinned, and then tilted his head down, smoothing out the grin like a wrinkle on a shirt, his hair falling in front of his face. These days all his shirts were creased, stained, and smelt like old bilge water. He supposed it was one of the problems inherent in being part of the crew he'd chosen; you didn't get a chance to buy new things too often.

Though, he wasn't aware of what Jack's excuse was.

"You must know I renounced romance some time ago," James said, letting his gaze slide back to two small boys who were fighting each other with sticks fashioned into makeshift swords. The faint click-click of wood hitting wood reaching his ears even from this distance. "Why else would I be here with you?"

Jack rolled slowly onto his stomach, his head hovering near James' knee.

"Is it the stimulating conversation?"

"Yes, and those little packets of dried fruits you bring me."

Jack nodded, pulling up tufts of grass with his fingers. "They're called jubes, mate. And they're not actually fruit."

James made a vague noise in agreement, but his attention was back on the two small children playing at sword fighting, who were now chasing each other around a tree. A third child, a young girl, had joined them and was yelling war cries at the top of her lungs. A small smirk crossed James' face.

"Do you ever think on how it'd be if you hadn't gotten yourself killed for her?"

James had turned his attention abruptly back to Jack, surprised, and then paused for a moment before speaking.

"Yes."

"And?"

"I expect it would be exactly like this."

Jack chuckled at that, resting his chin on James' knee. James almost absently reached out and gave Jack's shoulder a quick squeeze. They stayed like that for some time, watching the Turner gathering below them, until Jack spoke again.

"So I suppose this means I'll see you in another ten years?"

James grinned. "Yes, I suppose you shall."

-

1957

"This feels strangely familiar."

Jack looked up from the newspaper he was folding into tiny, complicated, unrecognisable shapes. "Oh, bugger. It can't be ten years already, can it? Figured I'd have swindled meself out of this one by the time you came calling."

James glanced around the prison cell. "But it's such a good fit for you."

"I was a millionaire, you know. 'F you'd come ashore last summer, you coulda spent the day in the lap of luxury. I had a motor car and everything."

"Yes, and you drove it into a lake."

"Pond. Was never a lake. A very small and easy to miss pond. Weren't my fault that it was full of a rare and expensive species of swan, now is it?"

"Just like it wasn't your fault that you were arrested for counterfeiting?" James asked, keeping his tone completely bland and innocent. Jack nodded enthusiastically.

"Got it exactly! That's how it went. I was an innocent victim of my tendency to get caught with my hand in the metaphorical jar o' cookies, if you follow."

"Right."

"Don't suppose, seeing as how this is your one day off from the job and all, you'd see about springing me out?"

James gave every indication of giving the request absolutely no consideration at all. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Goodness of your heart?" Jack hazarded, looking crestfallen. "Swishiness of my hips? I'm not the sort to acquiesce to conjugal visits, mate, and you're ticking your holiday off every second you spend being self-satisfied."

"You do make a compelling argument, Sparrow."

"Haven't heard you call me that in a long time, Commodore."

"Oh, gods, you make me feel old when you use that title, Jack."

"Nah. You barely look two hundred, I swear."

-

1907

"The sun is going to set soon. " James said.

Jack lifted his head, startled out of his daze, and eyed the horizon.

"So it is."

The days always went swiftly when Will and James came ashore, but this one had seemed quicker still. It had been a warm, lazy day and so while the Turner clan had gone into town, Jack and James had spent it close to the water, exchanging stories and lamenting how crowded the world was getting.

Jack had drunk too much at lunch and had fallen in and out of sleep for most of the afternoon. But James had stayed awake, watching the various vessels come in and out of port. Many of them large luxury liners, filled to the brim with international passengers. James didn't sleep. Jack couldn't be sure if he ever did anymore.

"You know, a ship can go anywhere in the world now, so long as it goes where it's told." Jack said, sitting up and shaking sand out of his hair. He was somewhat surprised by the irritation in his voice, though James didn't seem to be, he just adjusted his old hat slightly and looked around at him.

"There would be a place for you on The Dutchman, if you wanted it."

Jack shook his head. He did know that. Will had told him as much. But he'd always figured he ought to live while he's able.

"Actually, I'm thinking of getting myself one of those noisy airplane things," Jack said finally. "I could fly to Australia or someplace. I'd probably even outrun you lot."

"I'll give you ten years head start." James smiled, getting to his feet.

-

1857

Much like 1847 and 1837 before it, 1857 found Jack looking terrible. Under more robust circumstances, James would have been tempted to say something about how looking terrible was what Jack did best, but right now there was too much truth to the description to make the quip remotely amusing.

Jack didn't volunteer any specifics on what had him so broken, and Will and James didn't ask. They had a duty to fill their days, a task as large as life and death to perform. To live forever without a purpose would depress anybody sooner or later, they agreed in hushed voices on the other side of the garret, far away enough that Jack wouldn't be able to hear them from his spot on the stool by the window.

The air was sea-sharp and promised rain, but he didn't seem cheered by that any more than by the warmth of the sunshine filtering in through the grimy glass panes.

They heard stories from the dead, of course, about how the world was changing, but the dead were about as reliable as Jack himself when it came to information. The Turner family kept meticulous records and histories for them, but those spoke of love and blood and small, good memories, not the wider turnings of life.

Will went out into the town and brought back bread and cheese and wine, and the three of them sat on Jack's floor and ate and talked of nothing much at all.

"This isn't right," Jack said as the afternoon wore long. "You two bein' here all day like this. You're supposed to be spending your day of reprieve with the ones you love best in all the world. Can't be negotiating with the contracts of gods, lads."

A beat of silence seemed to still the air. James took another bite of bread and chewed slowly. Will pulled the cork from the bottle, and offered it up.

"More wine, Jack?" he asked.

_

1807

It had been two trips ashore since Elizabeth had passed, and James still expected to see her there when they came in. The sight of her children greeting their father was a heartening one, laughter and wide toothy smiles all round. The youngest Turner had brought her newborn, and he was the only exception. Tiny Weatherby howled constantly, verbalising the loss of someone that he couldn't really know; would only ever hear of in stories.

"Got a constitution just like his grandfather, that one." Jack said.

James didn't say anything immediately; he was watching Will nursing his newest grandchild. For a moment he'd wondered what a descendant of his own line might have been like, but it was only brief. Idle. He had never had much patience for the past.

"You're still here then?"

"Someone's got to keep an eye on these kids," Jack grinned. His knotted hair was pulled back, and was skinnier than last time, but remained otherwise unchanged. "Make sure they don't join the cavalry or turn all respectable."

James stopped watching the scene on the beach, and turned to face Jack again, curious. Upon feeling the scrutiny of his gaze, Jack feigned intense interest in the empty expanse of beach to their left.

"Did she ask you?"

Jack shook his head.

"Ought to leave them to their happy reunion, and get ourselves a few drinks, eh? I know a fellow who owns a saloon in town, who also happens to owe me a favour."

James smirked despite himself, falling into step with Jack, who was just ahead, already walking away.

"Odd, don't you think? How every barman this side of the Atlantic owes you a favour?"

Jack grinned back at him, gold teeth glinting.

"Divine providence, I'd say."

-

1757

Ten years had made Elizabeth a little harder and a little softer all at once; new lines around her eyes and a hitch to the corner of her smile. Her little boy was a wild, happy thing, prone to singing and to daydreaming and to fits of stubbornness that were the legacy of both his parents.

Jack hadn't made a point of paying a visit to them just as the decade was up. He truly hadn't, but it was one of those things that he'd gone and done even without the intentions which everybody assumed had been the motivation behind the actions. Six years had come and gone since he'd managed to find the fountain of youth, but he doubted that it showed much on his face yet. Elizabeth, in her unique predicament, most likely didn't notice the passage of time in other people's faces in the same way most did. Days and months were just a wait to be marked out.

It didn't seem like much of a life, and Jack told her so, and told her that he could bring her back a bottle full of the fountain's too-sweet draught if she was interested in keeping pace with Will forever after.

"No, Jack," she'd replied before he'd even finished speaking. "Thank you, but no. I... I want to have another baby. If luck's on my side. I want to see them grow up, and I want to be a grandmother, and..." She pressed her lips together, then smiled her rueful smile. "There's not many things I treasure, but my mortality's one of them. I'm living life for two, you see. Every line and grey hair I get will be one he never had a chance at."

And Jack was never one to tell another that their treasure wasn't fine, so that was that.

The ten-year day came, and the flash of green went up above the horizon, and Jack sat up on the bluffs and watched the beach below as the Turner family met each other once again.

"I should have expected you, I suppose," a dry, familiar voice said, and Jack rolled his eyes before looking up.

"Didn't you die, mate? I mean, you smell as if you did, but you're a mite ambulatory for one indisposed in such a fashion."

"Because the walking dead, that would be something entirely new in your experience?" James retorted, sitting down beside him. The bloke didn't smell dead, not really. Just damp, and a bit mildewy. Like a spare sail left rolled up in the brig too long.

"So you're one of Will's crew, eh?"

James nodded. "Dying on the Dutchman had its advantages."

"So how come you're --" Jack gestured to the beach, almost hitting James with the expressive wave of his hand. Will and Elizabeth were saying hello in a way that was barely appropriate for a nine-year-old audience. "On shore leave? Thought you blighters were bound to your boat."

"It's complicated."

"And here I thought your present circumstances had a simple explanation," Jack shot back, imitating James's own sharp sarcasm. James did his best to hide a twitching smile, but Jack could see it anyway and grinned in reply.

"It was my sword that stabbed Captain Turner's heart. Granted, I'd lost possession of it shortly beforehand, on account of being dead, but nevertheless. The legend's very specific in its wording. Rather like some of the legal protocols I'd dealt with in Port Royal, back before all this nonsense began. Whosever blade stabs the heart of the Captain shall become the new Captain, et cetera."

"But, hang on. Will's right over there, and looking right healthy, considering."

"Well, yes, because the stabbing in question took place sort of... simultaneously with him becoming Captain. It's all rather embarrassing, and Calypso just thinks it's all hilarious of course. I'm first mate, but there doesn't seem to be any problem in me leaving the ship in the same way Will can."

"How is our charming heathen goddess, then?"

James didn't answer right away, and when Jack looked over at him it became apparent he wasn't going to at all. Fair enough. They were both her lovers, in their ways; the sea was their mistress and their wife. What was there to say about it, really, that Jack didn't know for himself already?

Jack cleared his throat. "I found it, you know. Fountain o' youth. I'm gonna be around a right long time."

James raised his eyebrows. "Indeed."

"Sure as eggs, mate."

"I suppose I'll see you in another ten years, then."

Jack grinned again. "Suppose you shall."


End file.
